5 Years
by ReadAloudToMe
Summary: Peter in the immediate aftermath of Tony's death.


He vaguely senses everyone around him kneel down, heads bowed, his body on automatic following suit. They're all kneeling for Mr. Stark. Tony. To thank him. To honour him. Miss Potts (_No. Surely Mrs Stark now. Dr Strange said 5 years had passed. A lot could happen in 5 years. So much had happened in less than three for him.) _It lasts seconds, minutes, hours, Peter has no concept of time, no concept of anything. He's stuck between disbelief and reality. He sees everyone rising, mobilising, moving on. Mr Rhodey is pulling up Miss Potts, dragging her away from Mr Stark, cradling her as they share in their grief. Everyone else is hesitant. There is a thick layer of grief in the air but it doesn't stop the fact it's been 5 years for everyone. Strong hugs and tearful smiles are exchanged, handshakes of gratitude and pleasantries are exchanged around him, some in foreign and alien languages. But Peter is still stuck.

He glances to see **him**, to confirm this reality, that this was really happening and not just Thanos messing with the reality stone again; he doesn't see Mr. Stark. He sees the rest of his dead. He sees a little boy of 8 asking his Aunt and Uncle what do they mean his parents are dead, that they are never coming back, that he will live with them now. He feels the warmth of Uncle Ben fading, the stickiness of his blood, the cold of the pavement sinking through his clothes, hears the distant sounds of sirens, knowing they will be too late, and hears the last of his Uncle, second father, breaths, as he leaves him. He remembers drowning, Mr Stark asking for his suit back, choking on dust and being buried under rubble. He can still recall the way his hands has grappled at Mr Stark' s shoulder, his touch grounding him, as he desperately tried not to give in to power filtering through his very atoms, trying to split him apart. He tried so hard. (_If you die, then that's on me.)_

They're going now, portals are being opened, people are going home, resting, recovering, rejoicing in this victory. Captain America (_I stole his shield once_) and Thor (_he's a literal god Mr Stark, why wouldn't I be excited to meet him_) are picking up his body. His hand, arm, face still smoking slightly, the gauntlet glinting from fires still ravaging the battlefield. Dr Banner (_he'll love you Pete_) and Dr Strange at there as well discussing the Infinity stones. They want to take Mr Stark away, but remove the indignity of the weapon of his death, still attached to him. They consider the cabin (_cabin? 5 years is a long time_), there are a lot of people displaced without the compound and there is nowhere else now. The King of Wakanda steps up, offers his palace and then things move quite quickly after that. He hears more portals being opened up around him, engines firing up, and all manners of people heading home. He feels the heat of Wakanda, the silence of space, rain in Hong Kong, cold winds from a northern country. Miss Potts asks for one to **ourtheirher** cabin to get Happy and her daughter. (_Daughter, 5 years is a lifetime_) And Peter is still stuck.

In the end fading into the background and walking away from Mr Stark's cooling body is easy. No one knows him, no one is responsible for him, they barely know his name and they barely know Spider-Man. The only man who knew is dead. Mentor, fellow superhero, third father. He stumbles around the battlefield, tripping over rocks and giving a wide berth to the bodies-too many to count. He heads in the direction of the compound, of what still survives. 5 years was forever and all that remains is rubble and dust. He faintly hears a child's voice scream, "Mummy!... where's Daddy?" wailing…Happy crying. But he doesn't register it. Instead he trips over a larger piece of concrete and falls to his hands and knees. Here he stays. Tears continuing to make tracks down the dirt and blood on his face. He wraps his arms around his torso, and curls into a ball, every inch of his body is throbbing, but it's nothing compared to the achy remains of his fraying heart. (_Did you know heart break was real?)_

It's Happy who asks first, the urgency on his face palpable.

"Where's Pete?" Unfortunately, nobody has an answer. The Spider boy wasn't anyone's first concern, on second, or third. The man who's responsibility it was, was currently reuniting with Natasha and meeting Gamora in the Soul Stone, all the while thinking I wish, on shoulders that were finally burden free. Blank faces are replaced by determined ones as the Avengers (_Earth's mightiest heroes_) begin scanning the battlefield for the **youngbravebrokengrieving** hero. Captain Danvers finds him first, the shaking form of red and gold, folded into itself. Her heart aches for him, his introduction reminded her of another little girl. He was but a child in an adult's war. But as she scans her comrades, the Avengers (_and now Fury could finally answer her questions_), she huffs in derision. This was everyone's war.

"He's over there, I'll go." Somebody protests, but she ignores them, heads over anyway. His grief is reminiscent somehow. The confusion, the unknown, that tether of reality snapped right in front of you. But from what she saw on the battlefield of him, he's strong, he'll survive, she's sure of it.

His senses warn him of danger a second before someone puts their arm on his right shoulder, another on his left. He scrambles to get away, away from more death, danger, pain. But the hands hold steady, soothing noises emanating from the being. Peter unglues his eyes, tears having swollen them shut, crust irritating his eyelashes. A figure of blue, red and gold _(higher, faster, further)_ with short blond hair is there, Peter remembers her as the teasing lady who took the gauntlet from him (_if only, if only he had…_). Only once he makes eye contact with her, frozen in her hold, does she stop the soothing noises and begin speaking.

"It's okay kid. I'm not going to hurt you. I just didn't want you running off. You don't look in any shape to be moving about. There are some people who are worried about you (_may May MA y_). We need to get everyone away from here. We're going to Wakanda where you'll be able to rest and recover and eat. Okay? ... I know it doesn't feel like it kid, but it will get better. It will get easier to manage, I promise. Everything's alright now kid. Everything is okay. You can relax now."

It's not her soothing tone, on her hands rubbing circles into his shoulders. It's not the relief that this is out of his hands now, the adults, the Avengers (_welcome to the Avengers kid_) are taking charge; that he doesn't have to think about his next steps. He doesn't have to think about the rest of the world, and the Accords and the universe. It's not any of this that makes new tears fall, as he crumbles again, half falling into Carol' s embrace. It's those words, rest, it's okay Tony. Those last fated words he heard, the words which sent him into eternal slumber. A lifetime of weight and responsibility on his shoulders, released, like birds spreading their wings, taking flight, revelling in their freedom. He wonders if he'll ever be able to hear variations of those words again without shutting down in grief. The way concrete dust still sends him into a panic. He hopes not, but he kind of doesn't, because what else does he have? What else waits for him when he moves on? When he takes his next breaths in a world where Tony Stark does not exist.

The soothing noises are back, a fitting match to the dying wounded-animal noises he can hear himself making. He tries to catch his breath, to stop, to control himself, to breathe, but he actually can't. Peter is vaguely aware that he's hyperventilating and verging on the edge of a panic attack, and he's trying to stop, he genuinely is, if only he could jus e. Images are spiralling through his head, he can't catch any one fast enough before it's fading away. He's caught in the worst maelstrom of voices and vague images, trying to remember something, anything, to stable him, to get control. But all he can hear is the bad, the pain and the hurt. The weight of that damn gauntlet (_and the what ifs, that he'll know will plague him_), the panic in his throat as he watched the enemy turn to dust around him (_please no I don't want to go Mr Stark_), and then the silence. The sense of danger screaming at him, that something was not right, Karen calling his name (_Peter_). He still does not understand how he got to him so fast. He barely remembers getting in front of him, words babbling out of his mouth, in an effort to get him stay (_please anyone_), to not leave him (_not again_.)

For this first time since becoming Spiderman, he desperately wishes he was normal. A normal kid, who was dusted with his aunt, a normal kid who had suffered loss, but whose biggest concern was getting a scholarship to MIT. A normal kid who found out, with the rest of the world, that **Tony StarkIron Man** was dead, dying whilst **savingprotecting** us (_once, twice, three times_). Mourning him in one breath, and moving on in the next, lamenting that he never got to meet his hero. The truth is honestly, he doesn't want great power if it means great responsibility. Because what does that even really mean Uncle Ben? But as his breaths rattle, slowly but shakily, in and out and his tears subside, he knows the warmth Carol provides as a barrier to reality, is just temporary. He is Spiderman, and this is his life. Peter Parker will have to get up, confront Happy, give his condolences to Miss Potts, Mr Stark's daughter, Mr Rhodey, the original Avengers (_where was the Black Widow?). _Heal, rest, hug his Aunt May. Move on. But forgive him, because this is one leap of faith he doesn't want to take.

He once told Mr Stark that if the bad things happen and you had the power to stop them and didn't, then they happened because of you. He wonders how this falls on that scale. He wonders how he will move on from this. He wonders at this guilt. He held (_holds_) onto the guilt from Uncle Ben's so tightly to this chest. Yet, he's so sure he's Spiderman, with or without the suit. It now seems that Peter Parker is harder to figure out. This new existence he lives in, a world he has to navigate, where 5 years have passed in the blink of an eye. 5 years he'll never get back with those who were left behind. 5 years of changes. 5 years of grief. 5 years of people (_trying_) to move on. 5 years of moments he'll never share with Tony. 5 years of memories Tony has without him. And now he has a lifetime to live without Tony, no more new moments and memories; just another grave to visit. Peter wishes he was still stuck, but as the waves of grief wash over him, threaten to drown him, he knows he's moving on. He's living in a world without Mr Stark, and Iron Man won't be there to save him this time.

5 Years.

157,680,000 Seconds.

2,628,000 Minutes.

43,800 Hours.

1825 Days.

59 Months.

5 years

and now he's gone. And everything has changed.

_take me back_

_**Oh, this is nice.**_

_please_

_**I'm sorry.**_

_further_

_**If you're nothing without the suit then you don't deserve it.**_

_to the start_

_**Good lordy, how do you see out of these things?**_

_to the beginning _

_**Nice work, kid.**_


End file.
